


"Quaintrelle" is too Gender Specific

by Monsieur_Grenouille



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drunk Sex, Gay Sex, Hiatus, M/M, Sex Pollen, joetrick - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsieur_Grenouille/pseuds/Monsieur_Grenouille
Summary: Joe sees Patrick during the hiatus... holy shit.Just so you know, this is Treaple's new pseud. I changed my pseud to GayAndJewish since that's literally what all people in my real life know me as. "Mrs. F, your gay Jewish teenager writes too much fanfiction! Doesn't he have a social life?!" No, I don't. I have one internet friend and I've grown apart from my real-life ones.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Joe Trohman
Comments: 10
Kudos: 7





	"Quaintrelle" is too Gender Specific

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is Treaple's new name. I hope it's not too confusing.

Nothing could be more awkward than two lost friends meeting unannounced. One looked the same but had learned to know better, the other had glowed up while staying the same person. "Joe Trohman," Patrick greeted formally. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, his bow tie hanging loosely. His hair was sweaty from the show he'd just put on onstage. His eyes were soft and tired, the way they always were after a Fall Out Boy show. If Joe knows him well enough, he'd pass out as soon as he gets into the hotel. He never went to parties or slept with fans, and Joe made sure he was at the back of the line for a reason. If Patrick wanted to hang out, he wouldn't have to anxiously wait.

"Patrick Stump, you pretty bastard," he teased, a smile tugging at his lips. He was so happy to see Patrick again that he couldn't contain himself. Patrick couldn't stop either. The singer ran forward and dove into Joe's chest. His little arms squeezed his old friend as hard as he could, his face nestled in Joe's collar. He started to cry, shoulders shaking heavily. 

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I took you for granted and I missed you so much. You don't even know..." He sniffled and looked up at Joe. Joe was teary-eyed from the start. "You came to my show," he whispered, cupping Joe's face in his hands. "You care about me." 

Joe smiled, "It'd be stupid if I didn't." He bit his lip to hold back from kissing Patrick. Patrick noticed the look in his eyes and took his hands off of Joe's chest. 

"I'm sorry. Uh... are you doing anything tonight?" Patrick asked. 

Joe shook his head. "I went to this amazing concert, but it left me kind of tired so I'm done for the night," he chuckled. Patrick blushed. 

"I'm free, too. Wanna head back to my hotel and maybe talk some things over? I have some whiskey I shouldn't be drinking alone." 

Joe recalled one of the songs off Soul Punk. "Yeah," he said, "I know. I came from a bus, so I can't meet you there or anything." 

Patrick took his hand and started leading him out of the arena. "I came on a bus, too," he joked, "A different type of bus, but I don't discriminate." They walked across the street to the hotel, cautious of press and fans. Patrick unlocked his room and directed Joe inside, pulling a bottle of strong scotch out of the fridge. "Do you usually put anything in your drink? I haven't done that in a while, but I have coke just in case." He looked over his shoulder at Joe. 

Joe positioned himself comfortably on the couch and cocked his head to the side. "I put coke in it, yeah. Have you been drinking that type of scotch by itself? That's--" 

"Unhealthy, I know." Patrick winced and hesitantly poured only scotch in his glass. "I don't drink much, though. Only after really bad shows. I mean, I have a scotch every night, but I only get drunk when I do badly. Punishment, you know?" He gave Joe a glass and sat down next to him. His body language was compact and uncomfortable, leaning forward and clutching his stomach as he rocked back and forth. Joe squinted and saw he was shaking the slightest bit.

"Are you anxious?" he asked, scootching closer. Patrick leaned into him, his head lowering onto Joe's shoulder. They'd always been close. Being the youngest two members of Fall Out Boy had brought them closer as a pair, making them inseparable. Joe held Patrick to his side and brushed the back of his hand down Patrick's cheek. 

Patrick trembled and nodded his head. "Stay the night. I can't be alone," he requested, "I shouldn't be having this drink, either." He set it on the couchside table. "If you could just hold me until I tell you I'm fine, that would be helpful. I'm sorry for being a burden, I just haven't spent the night with someone in a while and it's making me anxious." 

Joe picked up Patrick by the armpits and brought him over into his lap. He could already feel the sexual tension, but he ignored it. "You're not a burden," he whispered, "I wouldn't be here if you were."

Patrick looked down at Joe's drink. "On second thought... maybe I shouldn't put off drinking tonight. You just need to stop me after this one." he reached back over to grab his glass and take a sip. He relaxed a little. "Okay," he sighed, "That's better. I'm too uptight." he chuckled and took a long drink. They talked about music and life and He shuddered and clutched his stomach. "MotherFUCKER!" he groaned, "I don't feel well. This is... ah... fuck, Joe. All I can see is colors and lights... stop stop stop..." he made a low growling noise.

Joe squinted at the bottle on the table. "This is strong," he cautioned, "Were you sure you could handle a full glass?" Joe had a high tolerance, so this felt normal to him so far. Patrick groaned louder, whispering the word 'fuck' over and over. 

"Joe, you should go now. I'm not sure I can handle having you here." 

"What?! Why?!" Joe glared at the tipsy singer. 

"I want you. I want you so badly and it's not healthy to have you here when I can't stop thinking about your hair and your dick and your skin. This isn't normal, what the fuck?" He didn't bear to look at Joe. "Get drunk so we can have sex without feeling guilty. Just a tip, I like gentle sex. Go on, get wasted." 

Joe shrugged and finished the rest of his drink, poured another, then downed that one. He was going to get drunker than Patrick. A few minutes after the two drinks, he started feeling the same burn as Patrick. "Holy shit," he gasped, "How are you getting through this? I'm so drunk it hurts. Son of a bitch... what's the scotch called?" he reached for the bottle, but couldn't grasp it. His double vision was killing him. 

Patrick was able to hold the scotch and read the label. "S-Sex Pollen..." he pronounced. "I didn't see that. I-I've heard of this, though. It makes people horny and they get restless so they fuck each other until it wears off. And we both just drank it, and I can barely see straight, so what can we do?" He gazed at Joe. "It's not like we could just... have sex without talking about it. I can't just suck you off without a plan, right?" He crawled over to Joe as if his erection was a needle and he was the compass. "How are you feeling?" he asked, rubbing against Joe's neck with the top of his head. "Is it kicking in?" 

Joe moaned at Patrick's touch. "The scotch..." he lisped, "Why'd you buy it?"

"It was cheap and remarkably strong. I couldn't resist." Patrick reached down to palm himself through his suit. "I feel so slutty," he panted. "Whiskey makes me slutty and this is sex pollen; it's the ultimate aphrodisiac. You can leave if you want to. I'm probably going to jack off until it goes away." 

Joe shook his head. "I'd do the same if you left. I need something. I need you. All night." He tore off his tee-shirt and pants, jacking off to get himself even deeper in the mood. Patrick stripped out of his clothes.

"Bed," the singer growled, "Now." He pulled Joe off the couch and made them crash on the mattress. Joe looked so hot and young like this. So tempting. They focused on kissing each other. Making out. Joe shoved his tongue down Patrick's throat, tasting the tainted scotch with every flick of his tongue. God, being drunk had never had this many perks. Patrick whined softly and clawed at Joe's shoulders. "More," he whispered, "We have to do more than this. I missed you too much and this shit is fucking with my head." He licks expectantly at Joe's jaw and neck. "Ah~ please..." 

Joe chuckled and broke away to lubricate his finger and Patrick's opening. He slipped one finger in. "How does this feel?" he murmured, moving his finger around the area. Patrick's skin constricted around him. "You're so tight, baby." 

Patrick panted softly, "More," he whispered, "I need you." 

Joe hummed and added his middle finger. He scissored his fingers to make his lover feel mixed emotions. Happy, frustrated, and needy. "Good boy," he whispered, "Such a pretty slut. So jacked up on pollen." He nuzzled Patrick's shoulder passionately. 

Patrick bit down on Joe's neck to make his mark. "No one can take you now," he whispered possessively, "You're mine." 

Joe started thrusting his fingers in and out of Patrick. "Say that again," he growled, " _I'm_ the one with _you_ wrapped around _my_ finger. Calm down, lay flat, and spread your legs. Now." 

Patrick cocked an eyebrow. "Make me." 

Joe laughed and forced Patrick onto the sheets, his wrists pinned above his head. Joe nudged Patrick's legs apart with his knee and settled between them. "I can make you do more than you think I can," he whispered. "When do you want to get fucked?" 

Patrick mewled hopelessly. "Now," he strained. He squirmed in his spot, trying to break free from Joe's grip. 

Joe braced himself and pushed in all the way. He allowed Patrick to adjust. "That okay, honey?" he whispered. Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Joe laughed, "You're still so tight, Patrick." Patrick begged Joe to move. He wanted to grip the sheets in his fist, but couldn't. His wrists were pinned above his head. Joe smiled slyly. "Do you want me to take my hands off your wrists?" 

"God, yes," Patrick whined. 

Joe took one hand off, holding down Patrick's hands with the other arm. He leaned down and pulled Patrick's undone tie off the ground. Carefully, he tied it around the singer's wrists to hold them together. He then began to thrust his hips into Patrick. He rose and fell heavily, only moving when he heard Patrick say "yes," "fuck yeah," or "harder." He just needed to know his lover was okay. 

Patrick turned his head to bite at his arm. He was trying not to make noise. Joe reached up to remove Patrick's mouth from the arm. "Don't bite yourself, baby," he whispered. He kissed Patrick as he thrust again and again. He picked up the pace, feeling Patrick's hot insides brush against him. "You feel so good," he praised, "If I didn't know you were such a slut, I'd think this was your first time." 

Patrick gasped, "I'm about to come." 

Joe panted, his thrusts becoming heavier and sloppier. "Me too. Still horny, though." 

"Mmphf~" the box blonde fought to contain his orgasm. It was as if he could see the stars through the ceiling. 

Joe held Patrick's hips in place as he came, making sure to fill him. He took cork from the scotch bottle and put it in as soon as he pulled out. Patrick came soon after, spilling semen onto their chests. He shouted louder than ever at that. "JOE!!" he screamed. He wilted into the sheets after that. Joe carefully untied the singer's restraints, biting his lip. Patrick looked so tired. So worn out and weak. He needed attention. 

The guitarist flopped down onto the mattress next to Patrick and scooped him into his arms. "How was that?" he whispered, "Did you like that? I did." 

Patrick nodded and nestled against him. "It felt good. We should do it again sometime. Maybe without the whiskey or the pollen." 

"Agreed. You're my little quaintrelle." Joe caressed his lover's face.

Patrick chuckled. "That word only applies to women, you know." 

Joe sighed, kissing Patrick's hair. "Quaintrelle is too gender-specific. I guess I should've just said I love you." 


End file.
